Becoming a Dynamic Duet
by hautecontre
Summary: Superheroes don't suddenly become dynamic duos. They're forged over time, through shared struggle and hard work. Or perhaps through comic hi-jinks, because the universe has it out for them. This is how Nightbird and Blond Chameleon get to being their own dynamic duo in Centropolis, a city with its own League of Superheroes.
1. Superfight!

Sam Evans, better known to the citizens of Centropolis as the Blond Chameleon, stooped down to retrieve the bag of popcorn that he had let drop from what, moments ago, had been his talons. As he made his way across the rooftop, he greeted the only person he knew who could have possibly called him. "Hey, Nightbird."

"Hey, Chameleon. Over here." Sam followed the voice to a corner of the rooftop, where he found Nightbird looking at something in the heart of downtown. "How did you know it was me?"

"Well, I don't know too many other people who would hack into the League's messaging system and send me a text 'Meet on top of McKinley Tower ASAP. PS: Bring popcorn.' Figured it had to be you."

"Good guess," Nightbird chuckled. "But I figured this was too good for you to miss."

The Chameleon tried to figure out what Nightbird was looking at, but couldn't figure it out on his own. "You're going to have to help me out here. Not everybody has your freaky 'I can see a license plate ten miles away in pitch darkness' night vision, dude."

Sam isn't sure, but he thinks Nightbird is grinning. It certainly sounds like it when he responds. "Take a look at Legends Plaza."

From this great distance—some sixty floors off the ground—he can see that something is going on at Legends Plaza a mile away. Exactly what is going on, he can't tell. But it looks like either a fight between some super-powered people or a reenactment of a discount bridal sale massacre. Sam's not sure. "Got your binoculars?"

"You bring the popcorn?"

"Right here. I'll trade you."

They exchange, and as Sam dons the glasses, Nightbird pops a few kernels into his mouth. "Ugh. Plain? Really, Chameleon?"

"Hey, dude. Just because we're super-powered doesn't mean we can pretend calories don't exist."

"I'll get you back for that next time."

"Whatever, dude. You'll thank me when you can still fit into that costume in five years." Sam adjusts the binoculars to focus in on Legends Plaza, and damn, are those binoculars cool. High-definition quality a mile away? How is that even real? He's going to have to ask Nightbird who his tech guy is. He'd thought briefly about trying to distract Nightbird and "accidentally" walk off with it, but he realizes that first, it's not exactly superhero behavior to steal something, and second, it'd be really tough to hide when he's leaving.

But getting back to business, Sam finally figures out what's going on, but he can't really believe what his eyes are showing him.

"Is that a . . . Superlady fight?"

"I figured you'd get a kick out of seeing it. You mentioned it was a fantasy of yours once, if I remember correctly."

"You most certainly did! It's awesome," said Sam, not taking his eyes off the unfolding action. Gold Star had just unleashed a "Galaxy Burst" attack on Eastwind, who was distracted by rather successfully parrying a counterattack from the Tigress and her cat-o'-nine-tails. Best fight ever, thought Sam. "But why are they fighting?"

"From what I can tell, somebody left a box containing a note saying it was 'for the toughest diva in Centropolis.' After opening it, they saw it was a new iPhone with solid gold exterior, and they've been going at it ever since."

"How long's that been?"

"About fifteen minutes or so."

"Too bad I missed the first part of it."

"Keep watching. It doesn't look like they're going to stop anytime soon."

Something's been bugging Sam for the last few minutes. Not the fight—that's fully living up to his wildest expectations, and beyond. It isn't until he's about to ask Nightbird if Apple had announced the release date for the 10s when it hits him.

"Why do you keep doing this, Nightbird? You know eventually someone's going to catch on and make your life miserable."

"Doing what?"

"Seriously, Nightbird? Divas fighting over a golden Apple? Can you get any geekier?"

"I thought you'd appreciate a classic."

"Don't get me wrong. I love a good myth reenactment as much as anybody. But I don't want you to get in any trouble because you stole someone's very expensive toy."

"Don't worry, Chameleon. Nobody's going to report it."

That got Sam's attention. "And why not?"

"I got it from Tim Cook. He's an old buddy of mine."

"Strike one."

"I won it at a poker game?"

"Swing and a miss. Strike two."

"Okay. I hacked into the email system of a factory owner who decided to steal wages from his employees, while buying a pretty little thing for his much younger mistress, then intercept the package and forge his signature?"

"That's good for a ground double. But what did you do with the actual phone?"

"I told you. It's down in the plaza."

"You expect me to buy that after all this time? You could fence that phone for six figures or more, and you're telling me you're just giving it away as a prize in a fight among superheroines?"

"Okay, okay. I'm currently auctioning it off among my investors. Top bid is $250,000. You want to top it?" smirked Nightbird. Or at least Sam thought he was smirking.

"Not on my salary, Nightbird. Sorry."

"That's too bad. It'll help the employees a bit—although it's not nearly enough compared to what they've lost."

"Well, you're actually doing something about it, rather than just bemoaning the injustice. That's more than most people ever do. The League probably won't do anything about it, either. 'We're crimefighters, not private investigators.'" That last bit came in a spot-on impression of Captain Colossus, the League's leader.

"That's too bad."

"Yeah, it is. But what can I do about it?"

Nightbird didn't have an answer for that, so they just went back to watching the fight.

A few minutes later, Nightbird whispered quietly next to Sam, "We should probably go. I think we're being watched."

"Where?"

"Up in the sky. Your ten o'clock."

With Nightbird's binoculars, he slowly adjusted his gaze and saw what Nightbird had already spotted—a League member making large, languorous circles in the evening sky. "Good catch. Yeah, we should go. But how are you going to get down?"

"Well, my cape does double as a parachute. Don't worry about me." Nightbird started backing up, clearly looking ready to launch himself off the roof.

"Wait!" burst out Sam. "I've got a better idea. I've been practicing something."

"What are you talk. . . ." squawked Nightbird, but he found himself speechless after watching Sam's transformation. _That is so cool!_

After landing on the ground and letting Nightbird climb off of his back, Sam turned around to face his passenger, rumbling, "on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your experience today on Chameleon Airlines?"

"10 out of 10. Would definitely ride again," laughed Nightbird. "But I've got to know . . . was that supposed to be Gwaihir from _Lord of the Rings_?"

"Finally, somebody who gets it!" exclaimed Sam in delight. "The rest of the League just thought I was some overgrown oriole."

"That's ridiculous. Your friends need to watch more movies."

"That's what I tell them, too. They never listen, though. They just want to watch dumb romantic comedies and musicals and experimental films."

"Ugh, how boring. Maybe we'll have to do our own marathon sometime."

"That would be awesome. But how will we meet up?"

"Well, you can always text me. You have a number now."

"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Nightbird."

"You too, Chameleon. Till next time."

Sam watched Nightbird vanish away into the shadows. "See you soon, I hope," he said to himself, as he turned back toward the League headquarters, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Meanwhile, in Legends Plaza, Rachel Berry, also known as Gold Star, received a signal from her earpiece.

"Gold Star, this is Cloud Dancer."

"Read you, Dancer. Go ahead."

"Surveillance targets no longer in view. Repeat: surveillance targets no longer in view."

"Did you see where they were headed, Dancer?"

"Negative. However, I did see one of the targets riding what appeared to be a large oriole off of the tower."

"Thank you, Dancer. See you back at base," said Rachel, freeing Mike Chang from his duties.

"Glad to be going home. It's a little chilly up here."

"Okay, everybody," announced Rachel. "Play time's over. We can wrap things up and head back to headquarters now."

"What? Huh? But what about the prize for the toughest diva?" whinged Kurt Hummel, better known to all as the Fashionista.

"Boo, that junk's as fake as Milli Vanilli," chimed Miss Sonic.

"Then we've been beating each other up for the last half hour for nothing?" groused Eastwind.

"No, it's for Operation Matchmaker!" enthused Miss Moneybags, as several of the younger ladies shook their heads in exasperation or facepalmed themselves. Nobody really said anything about Miss Moneybags's lack of tact and instincts regarding operation security, but then again, when Miss Moneybags's "superpower" was financing the whole League in Centropolis, who wanted to upset the applecart?

"Matchmaker? Who's getting set up here? There aren't any guys around," observed Kurt, growing more impatient with his misunderstanding of the situation.

"Not us, you fool. A certain shapeshifter we know and the oblivious, visually impaired, morally ambiguous object of his affections," snarled the Tigress.

"Sam and . . . Nightbird? What are you people smoking? There's no way this plan will ever work. After all, . . ." Kurt was cut off by the crack of the Tigress's whip.

"Shut it, Hummel. If the next words out of your mouth are 'Sam is straight,' or anything to that effect, I'll round up all of your precious Alexander McQueen outfits and give it to Lady Dada to turn into plaid button-downs and corduroys."

"You wouldn't dare," exploded Kurt.

"Try me. I'm already going to be sore for days. I don't want to hear another of your ridiculous bi-phobic diatribes right now."

"Hmmph. Just don't come complaining to me when this plan blows up in all of your faces."

"Kurt's right, though," offered Eastwind. "I mean, Nightbird's clearly interested in me more than Sam."

"Oh, honey, we've been through this before," rang in Miss Sonic, eager to shut Eastwind down before she embarrassed herself any further. "Answer me this, Tina: if Nightbird's so into you, then why was it Sam he invited to watch us get our fight on?"

"And before I was so rudely interrupted," said Rachel, trying to get things back on track, "Mike told me that he saw Nightbird riding a bird off the tower tonight!"

"Nightbird riding Sam? Now that's just too easy," scoffed the Tigress.

"But don't you see? That means that step one of our plan is a success, and we can move on to the next phase of the operation. This is so exciting!" said Rachel as she started leading the other League divas back toward headquarters, eagerly discussing possible ways of playing Cupid for Sam and Nightbird. Further back in the pack, Eastwind and the Fashionista exchanged murderous looks, which did not go unnoticed by the Tigress and some of the other younger League members. . . .

To be continued. . . .


	2. First Impressions

"Hey, Boss. I'm just about done for the night. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to finish making the modifications to your suit. Mind if I head home?" asked Ryder Lynn, Blaine's right-hand man.  
"No, you can go," said Blaine. Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. Besides, you've been working hard enough as it is lately. You should have some fun." Being Nightbird lately had led to some close calls, and Ryder had been putting in tons of overtime upgrading Nightbird's equipment to ensure he could get out of future jams. He really needed to get Ryder to take a night off, but could understand why he didn't. Neither of their powers were exactly compatible with a thriving social life. Maybe that's why they got along so well—two misfits cast together by fate.  
Just as Ryder was about to push the call button for the elevator of Blaine's penthouse suite, the elevator opened up, admitting Sam Evans to the suite. "Good night, Mr. Evans," said Ryder.  
"Hi, Ryder. And please, how many times do I have to tell you, just call me Sam!"  
"Yes, Mr. Evans. Maybe next time. Take care of the boss tonight, okay?"  
"Sure thing. See you later."  
"Bye." Ryder got into the elevator and headed down.  
Sam headed over to where Blaine was seated on the couch, staring out at the full-sized monitor wall that took up one side of the great room of the penthouse suite. Wrapping his arms around the smaller man, he put his head next to his boyfriend's ear and asked, "What are you up to?"  
"Working on the storyline for our comic book," answered Blaine.  
"I can see that," said Sam. "I guess the better question is, why are you starting with the superlady fight?"  
"Because I felt it was better to start the story in media res, and let the audience see that we're already good friends, rather than starting from the very beginning."  
"But it's an origin story, Blaine! We have to start from the top."  
"Really, Sam? You're sure you want to talk about our first times meeting each other?"  
"Hmmm. You have to admit the first time was rather comical."  
"For you, maybe. How do you think I felt?"  
"Okay, I could see how that could have been a bit frightening. . . ."

Blaine had just finished taking off his Nightbird costume when he felt a giant gust of wind sweep him away from his apartment. That was of course strange because he lived indoors, and not anywhere where a gust of wind should have been able to make its way past the windows, let alone send him who knows where. He could tell he had been brought somewhere and was now sitting down on something rather uncomfortable. It felt rather like a bunch of sticks and branches. A giant nest, perhaps? But why, and where was he?  
The room was dark, when suddenly he heard a door open and someone come in. "Hello, who's there? And why is there a nest in my room?" the stranger asked.  
"Um, hi. I'm stuck in the nest, but I don't exactly know why I'm here, either."  
"Oh, you're stuck in there. Hold on. Let me turn on the lights so I can help get you out."  
Knowing the trouble that would cause, Blaine was quick to shout out, "No, please don't! Turn on the lights, I mean. My eyes are sensitive to light, especially at night."  
"Okay, then. But could you at least tell me who I'm talking to?"  
"Most people know me as Nightbird."  
"And what about the rest?"  
"Well, we're not that familiar yet. I'm not just going to tell you my real identity out of the blue."  
"I guess that's fair enough. I'm Blond Chameleon, by the way."  
"Nice to meet you, Chameleon. I'd shake your hand, but I'm afraid of getting stuck by one of these branches. They look pretty sharp on the pokey end."  
"I guess that would really be a problem if you were a vampire. You're not a vampire, right? Sucking people's blood isn't your superpower, I hope. Otherwise I'm in a lot of trouble right now."  
"Don't worry, you're perfectly safe. No biting, I promise. Unless you want me to," Blaine said cheekily. He wasn't sure why, but he liked Blond Chameleon. Even this short little interaction suggested to him that they could be good friends.  
"I don't go for kinky until at least the fifth date."  
"And when will that be?" teased Blaine.  
Sam sputtered a bit, in disbelief at how bold this stranger—albeit a famous vigilante—was being. "Well, don't you think we would want to have a first date first?"  
"Sounds good to me. But you'd better wow me, Chameleon." Blaine didn't want to say anything, but through one of the holes in the nest, he had, thanks to his excellent night vision, an absolutely amazing view of Blond Chameleon. And there was definitely much to admire. But he had to prioritize. Right now, that meant getting out of this ridiculous nest. "Do you know how I got here, and how the heck I'm supposed to get out of this nest?"  
Sam quickly sized up the situation. "Well, judging by the fact that you're sitting in a giant nest in what is supposed to be my bedroom, I'm guessing this is the work of Lady Dada. Now the good news is her spacetime manipulations only last a few minutes, particularly when they're so big. So I think if you just wait a minute, you'll be taken back safely to where you came from."  
"That's good, I guess. I would have liked to get to know you a bit better, but under the circumstances, I suppose it's for the best."  
"I would have liked that, too," said Sam. "How will we get to meet again?"  
"Well, Chameleon, if you know anything about me, you should know that I'm very good at finding things. Don't worry, I'll definitely be in touch. And soon."  
"I'm looking forward to it," responded Sam, surprised at how much he meant that admission. "See you soon, Nightbird."  
"You too, Blond Chameleon." And with that, he felt his world slip out from under his feet once more, before finding himself in his own bedroom, sadly by himself. "You, too."

"Did you ever figure out what Britt was after when she pulled that little stunt?"  
"As far as I could gather from Santana, she wanted to see if we could get together and produce, and I quote, 'beautiful half-bird, half-lizard babies.'"  
"Huh? Babies? She does realize that I'm not actually a bird, right? And how would we produce babies? It's not like two guys can have kids on their own."  
"Well. . . ."  
"What aren't you telling me, Sam?"  
"Um, I think she might have discovered mpreg around that time."  
"Mpreg?! As in guys becoming pregnant mpreg?"  
"Yeah, that'd be the one. And since Britt can warp the laws of reality, I figured it wasn't worth pursuing. Not tempting fate, and all that."  
"But you didn't think it was worth warning me? 'Hey, my friend might want to get you pregnant?'"  
"Well, I didn't know that was what she wanted at the time, and even if she did, it's not as if she'd actually be able to pull it off. She'd get bored and lose interest way too quickly for that."  
"Still not making me feel any better here, Sam."  
"It's like this. Her power works on nonliving objects because they don't change much with time, so they don't resist what she's trying to do. With living matter, it's already constantly changing, so she constantly has to focus on it to keep it from snapping back. So she'd have to be focused on us staying pregnant for nine months to make it work. And that seems like an awfully long time for anybody."  
"Okay, that doesn't sound so bad then."  
"Or I guess she could figure out how to speed up the process."  
"Sam!"  
"Fine, whatever. I'm sorry. I should have told you. But that doesn't change the fact that you're trying to steer the discussion away from what really matters?"  
"Oh, really?" said Blaine cheekily. "And what's that?"  
"You were into me the first time we met, that's what," said Sam with conviction.  
"True, you did have a very attractive exterior. But I'd like to think my attraction to you was based more on your personality and character than just shallow appearances. Then again, it might have just been animal magnetism."  
"I thought we agreed we were going to leave that out."  
"Equal opportunity, Sam. If I'm getting embarrassed, no way you're getting off scot-free."

As part of his superhero training, Sam was going to spend the lunch break working on his tracking skills. Artie was coming along as his guide and observer. Artie had already provided Sam with all the intel and materials he'd need for his job: figure out where his lunch would be held by tracking down his guest, which today was Kitty. (Sam suspected he'd be asked to leave shortly after he arrived, so that Artie and Kitty could have some alone time. He didn't mind, much.)  
Unfortunately, this exercise was proving to be a lot harder than it appeared at first glance. He just couldn't get a solid lead—it felt like there were two sets of signals mixing up his senses. The target signal was there, but it felt like it was getting swamped by a more powerful signal.  
After a few blocks, though, Sam realized that he was getting things mixed up—he really, really needed to follow that stronger signal. Just a little bit more and it'd be the only signal. There, there it was. He knew exactly where he had to go, and how to get there. He signaled to Artie that he had found his quarry, and was pursuing it. He didn't have time to notice the confused look on Artie's face.  
Sam kept following the signal as it got stronger and stronger, but also seemed to be moving somewhat. He thought it was a bit strange—it wasn't part of the mission for the target to be moving, after all—but supposed maybe it was all a trick.  
He couldn't help but contain his surprise, however, when he finally spotted his target, and realized that the signals weren't leading him to Kitty but to a short dark-haired young man wearing a pitch-black visor over his eyes. He felt an overwhelming urge to help, to protect, and to care for the young man, and it was confusing him, sine he couldn't recall meeting him before.  
As he finally approached the young man, he realized he was moving much too quickly. He tried to slow down, but wasn't in time, and found himself colliding with the young man. He tried to help the young man up, but found Artie had beaten him to the punch. For some reason, this bothered him, and he made his disapproval known. Artie gave him a sideways glance, but proceeded to ignore him and turned to the young man.  
"I apologize for my friend here. He clearly got a little excited to see you."  
"I can see that," said the young man. His voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. All he knew is that he wanted to keep hearing that voice as long as possible. "I'm Blaine, by the way."  
"I'm Artie, and my overeager friend here is Sam." Sam let Artie knew what he thought of the obvious insult. Artie tried to tug Sam away, but Sam wasn't having any of that, as he tried to make his way closer to Blaine.  
Artie was getting ready to leave, which made Sam very unhappy, as he leveled a death glare at his friend. Understanding Sam's meaning, he turned to Blaine, saying, "I'm sorry to cut this short, but we have to go. It looks like my friend Sam would like to get to know you better, though. Are you here often?"  
Blaine grinned, "Yeah, I'm usually here this time of day for my lunch break. Unless it's raining, of course. Your friend seems really cool, though. You're more than welcome to come back sometime."  
"I guess we'll take you up on that offer sometime soon," said Artie, as he pulled Sam away, "Thanks. And have a nice day."  
"You too," said Blaine, with a tone that seemed to Sam to be somewhat sad, like he was already starting to miss Sam. But that was crazy, wasn't it?

"That sounds perfectly innocent to me, Blaine. What was so bad about that meeting?" said Sam, trying to ignore what he knew was coming.  
"Sam, Artie said he had to chase you for three miles!"  
"So what?"  
"Well, given that your mission was to track Kitty, who was about two blocks away when you started running, it seems that your canine form found me irresistible. Especially since you were tracking me down based on having only met me once for like five minutes a month before you found me in the park."  
"Okay, okay. They stopped trying to train me to track people because the only one I seemed to be capable of finding is you. I could find you anywhere in about a five-mile radius, and if you weren't around, I'd just start whining and whimpering. Is that what you wanted to hear?"  
"Well, it just proves that you were just as into me as I was into you back then. So the feelings were definitely mutual, I'd say."  
"Yes, that's true. But do you think we really have to share any of that with the public. Can't we stretch the truth a little, and make them think the Yana case was the first time we met? After all, it was the first time we met as Nightbird and Chameleon, and that's what people are interested in, right?"  
"I suppose we could do that. No point in embarrassing both of ourselves, right?"  
"Exactly. Now what do you say we go grab some dinner, and then come back here and play a little interrogator and suspect."  
"Can we skip dinner?"  
"Not a chance. You'll need your stamina," grinned Sam. "Now go get dressed, and I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes."


End file.
